


The Monster Killed The Melody You Loved

by writinwaters (Anithene)



Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: AU, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, F/M, Finished, Oneshot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-10
Updated: 2015-04-10
Packaged: 2018-03-22 04:26:30
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 736
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3714973
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Anithene/pseuds/writinwaters
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>They had all survived. Dorian, Sera, Iron Bull, Cassanda, Vivienne, Blackwall, Varric, Cole…all of them…Except one.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Monster Killed The Melody You Loved

They search for days.

Rubble, ash, bodies. The very air chokes her lungs, heavy with the taste of blood, of the long burnt-out fires which have made all into dust. It was a surprise attack in the shadows of night, Red Templars so quick of foot they evaded even Leliana’s scouts. Much of Skyhold now lies in ashes. The surrounding mountains gleam with the half-light of dusk.

Her fingers ache, covered in burns and cuts, but she continues to dig, past scorched beams and blackened stones. Someone approaches from behind.

Cassandra kneels at her side, offers a tankard of water; the metal is charred. “Drink,” she orders, mouth a hard line. Malfinneth shakes her head, does not trust her voice to speak. She continues to dig.

Cassandra drags a hand down her face, dirtied with soot. Her raven hair clings to her temples.

“Inquisitor,” she begins, but the words catch on her teeth. Malfinneth turns her face away, so she does not see Cassandra’s eyes soften, her shoulders drop. She rises to her feet, walks away.

Night falls. Malfinneth digs.

 

.

.

.

They had all survived. Dorian, Sera, Iron Bull, Cassanda, Vivienne, Blackwall Varric, Cole…all of them…

Except one.

Malfinneth opens her eyes; she had fallen sleep sometime in the night, but her sleep was not restful. Her head throbs, the fulcrum of her joints feel stiff, worn, like a weathered tree. She has no energy to mend them, neither to eat nor drink, so she kneels in the rubble and searches once more.

It feels like days before she unearths the first scrap, the first star of hope: The mangled end of a mage’s staff, his staff, she remembers it clearly, because he would lay it on the ground before he’d join her in bed, before he’d kiss her brow and murmur her name -

She sets her jaw, searches deep into the pools of her resolve, and sets the broken piece aside.

 

.

.

.

Sera joins her. Makes easy jokes, about that funny bird over there or that one noble she killed that one time, but falls into silence, helps her search, for a time. She leaves when the stars begin to shine.

Bull does not speak; he settles into the dirt beside her, heaves the heavier pieces away, one after the other, unrelenting. He stays until the sun peeks over the horizon, but before he leaves, he settles one large, calloused hand against her shoulder. His touch lingers there long after.

Vivienne sets a platter of cheese and stale bread at her knee, does not order her to eat, though she makes a sound almost like a sigh when Malfinneth pays the food no mind.

Her other companions come by, some to stay, some to offer a warm blanket or a “please, Inquisitor. It’s been days. You need your rest.” But her body will not sleep; her mind will not be silent. She dreams of him, of his lips and brow, of the way her name sounded on his tongue, and when she wakes again the next morning, she thinks for a moment that she will find him there beside her, but he has not followed her from her dreams.

On the fifth day, Leliana takes her aside.

 

.

.

.

The tower had been largely destroyed, wooden beams split like brittle bones, the old stones broken into rubble. Sunlight breaks through the gaps in the ceiling. Slashes of burns from lightning or the glimmer of frost scar the remaining structure.

The doorway still stands, though the door itself had been long ago blown apart.

He had shoved her from this very room not days ago. Days. If she concentrates, she can still smell the scent of his magic, feel the weight of his palm against her back.

Solas had told her to run. Had to physically pry her hands from his tunic, but not before kissing her knuckles and promising, softly, to be right behind her. He lied.

Slowly, Malfinneth brings her fingers to her lips, tries to taste him there, tastes only the salt from her tears.

Nothing of him remains. She had hoped, bitterly, that perhaps they would find a body, so there would be some form of closure to a wound that would never scar. But there is nothing.

The entire world swings to the side as she falls, hard, onto her knees in the dirt, bloodied fingers clenched into fists.

She finds her voice.

.

.

.

 

_“Solas.”_


End file.
